Soldier
by Rathorian
Summary: They were soldiers, they always had been. They had a mission to complete, and then they would find their way back to eachother, just like they always did. Except, this time, he was going to have to bring her back. This time, she was the one who needed him.
1. Cold

Cold. That was the first thought that filtered through the haze of her mind, her brain fuzzy and thoughts clouded. Cold. Goose bumps traveled up her arms, the hairs standing on edge. Cold. Her jaw clenched, teeth grinding together as she fought to keep from shivering. Cold. Darkness took hold once more, drawing her back into it's own icy embrace. Scared.

Why was she scared? She didn't know. In fact, her mind supplied her with nothing more than the understanding that she was cold and scared and her body ached as if she had been hit by a tank and then it had reversed to hit her again.

She tried to move, just her shoulder at first, trying to twist in the uncomfortably tight space. She couldn't see anything but the faint outline of lights. Where was she? Bile climbed up her throat, though she refused to expel it. Canvas. Pavement. Exhaust. The smells overwhelmed her and she squirmed again. The canvas of a bag, the bag she was currently trapped within, rubbed aggressively against her body. Pain, her mind supplied when she squirmed again. Muffled sounds greeted her when she shifted to reach above her, fingers glancing over the canvas until the brushed against something smoother and less scratchy. More sounds as she tugged at the cool object, the bag splitting in two and casting her in blinding lights, the sounds of the world crashing down at her all at once in a deafening roar.

Sirens in the distance, a bottle breaking from a too high drop, a scream, cars screeching around blocks away. "Get on the ground! Down, get down! Hands on your head! Get down!" Her body jolted at the onslaught of commands, eyes wide and round as she stared at the figure clad in… well, she had no clue what it was. More orders were shouted and she tuenwd back around, trembling as she dropped back to her knees, fingers curling against her hair. "Do not move," she wasn't entirely sure she could, even if she wanted to.

Cold metal snapped painfully around her wrists, doing little to help her fight the chill already settled around and in her. She was forced to her feet, the pavement scratching at the sensitive pads as she was lead from the street to an awaiting car, red and blue lights flashing erratically on top.

Cold. Hurt. Lost. Scared.

Help.

**hey everyone! thank you for reading! i uave recently become obsessed with Blindspot, but i am also very upset with it. it had the potential to be amazing -- good guys as the bad guys and bad guys as the good guys? but they just had to go and make the government the righteous. nah, thwy could have done something very different and phenomenal! so, i decided to do my own take on how I think iy should have gone. this will be completely AU. some things will line up, but not much. please RR! would love some feedback.**


	2. Again

ii

She was no longer cold, at least not like she was before anyways. Her body had been violated, poked and prodded and photographed -- she didn't want to be photographed. She couldn't remember why, only that the minute the first flash of the camera went off, incomprehensible fear coursed through her like a tidal wave. She couldn't refuse though, how could she? Why should they listen to her when she doesn't even know who she is?

The metal chair was painfully cold, the cool bite making her legs sit up, toes barely skimming the floor in an attempt to keep her thighs from resting against the seat. "My name is Kurt Weller," she stared at the man across from her, studied his features and let his voice wash over her. She didnt know him, and yet she did. "I am the lead agent on your case." More words, more questions, more statements. No answers.

"I didn't even dream," she whispers, staring at her clasped hands, struggling to keep from sinking into the cushions of her chair. A night alone in a run down hellhole, she had even opened a drawer to find a small family of mice living in it. "I was hoping," she continues, "hoping I would. Maybe… I dont know -- I thought maybe it would tell me something. Give me something. But I'm still as lost as before. I have no idea what is happening. Someone did this to me," she pulled at her fingers, eyes refusing to rise to meet the dark skinned doctor before her, "they did this to me and I don't know why or how. I can't do anything."

Two cups were pushed into her line of sight. "I got you a coffee and a tea this morning," the doctor's voice was kind, soothing, "which do you prefer?" His lips quirked up in an amused half smile, a stark contrast to the incredulous look on her own. "Go ahead, try." She took both cups, taking a small sip of one, her face immediately twisted in disgust and she set it back down. The doctor's grin grew. She took a sip of the other.

"This one," she says firmly, taking another sip, "that one tastes like grass trimmings."

"See, you aren't helpless. You remembered what grass trimmings taste like, and that you are a coffee person." She gave a small smile, heart warming at the thought of knowing something at all. "Our lives are made up of choices, no matter how small. We are defined by our choices, you just don't remember yours yet. Keep trying new things, start with small stuff -- chicken or beef, vegetables or fruit, water or juice. See what your body remembers, or make new choices. Keeping making them and the less helpless you will fill. We don't know if you will regain your memories -- but even if you don't, you can reinvent yourself." He shut the journal on his lap before reaching down and pulling out a thick, leather bound book. "Try this. Just sit down, and let your hand move. You may not be an artist, but you might find that while your memories are hidden, they are still there. Draw whatever you can." She took the book with a small nod and another tentative smile.

"Thank you."

Jane Doe, that's what the 'team' had taken to calling her. She couldn't explain why, but the name left a sour taste in her mouth. She didn't know much of anything, nothing important anyways, but she knew that definitely wasn't her name. A name they branded her with, just like the bastards who branded her with these ridiculous 'tattoos.' She hated them. She hated the name. It wasn't her name.

Patterson. Reade. Zapata. Weller. They all had their own names, their own identities, and yet she had nothing. It wasn't their fault, she knew that, but it didn't stop the anger that flashed through her each time they called to each other. But then they were all looking at her with mixtures of distrust and awe, the world flowing past her lips with an ease she didn't quite understand. "It's a date," she supplies warily, her own gaze flickering from one to the next before settling back on the screen. "A date and a location. Today's date." And then they were moving, rushing perhaps was a better word for it. Fighting and running, constantly moving as they tracked down every lead but as the minutes ticked by, the hope she had felt diminished. The realization that today's trip would not leave her with any clue of who she was, other than that she could fight -- that she could kill -- causing her shoulders to sag.

But then it was like a bucket of water crashing down on her. She had her first memory back -- the solid weight of the glock a familiar pressure. The calm silence that rang right before each press of the trigger. She knew this feeling well, she had been training for it her whole life -- she couldnt explain how she knew that's what her life was for, but she knew it was.

"You missed two. Again."

**hey again! went ahead and tossed this chapter up too. i dont plan to really focus on the tattoo missions but everything else, but while setting everything up I'll be mentioning it some more. I apologize for any spelling/gramatical errors. i am using my phone to type things up and unfortunately autocorrect isnt as smart as it thinks.**

**anyways, please leave a review, let me know what you think so far, what you want to see moving forward, ect!**


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